


Curiosity Killed the (Grand) Caster

by shinigami_yumi



Series: Atonement [1]
Category: Fate/Grand Order
Genre: Bad Decisions, Biblical References, Bittersweet, Complete, Could Be Canon, Denial, Dreamsharing, Flashbacks, Flirting, Food, Humor, M/M, Mythology References, Pre-Canon, Sexual Tension, Teasing, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2020-01-06 23:56:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18398963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinigami_yumi/pseuds/shinigami_yumi
Summary: Merlin (as Altria would attest) was always better at getting into trouble than out of it. Meddling in the past, even only in dreams, was a bad idea, and he knew better. But his curiosity was piqued, and he never could resist...





	Curiosity Killed the (Grand) Caster

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be out on 31st December. Then on 14th February. Then on 14th March. And now I don't even know anymore, so I'm just going to post what ~~I've given up on editing~~ I'm mostly sort of happy with because ~~it's driving me crazy~~ maybe the perspective from some level of finalization will help.
> 
> Still, I hope you enjoy!

It started on a whim.

Merlin doesn't even like the man, but seeing the vaunted King of Mages wish for life as a normal human really piqued his curiosity.

Once, there would have been nothing he could do about it, but being stuck outside the time axis in Avalon literally opened up worlds of possibilities, even if only in dreams. He'll have to be careful not to affect proper history, of course —the last thing he needs are more Singularities or pointless trouble with the Counter Force— but that doesn't mean he can't have some fun. Solomon's spirit is very tasty, and he can lord any embarrassing dreams over the Grand Caster for all eternity.

“You again!” a young Solomon exclaims as soon as Merlin arrives — he'd banished the hybrid on sight the first time.

“Aww… don't be like that.” Merlin chuckles. “Even if the future in which we must work together is still far away.”

Hazel eyes narrow. “You're a demon, aren't you?”

Inclining his head, he agrees, “Half-incubus, to be precise.”

Solomon crosses his arms. “So why would I work with you?”

“Necessity, mostly.”

The prince scoffs. “There is none greater than my Lord. I need no help but His.”

“My, my,” Merlin sighs. “What was I thinking, coming at this time? But never mind your boring, short-lived prejudices. Tell me, where is this place?”

He waves at the garden around them, enclosed by high walls for privacy and with a small cascade of basins by the entrance to wash the hands and feet. It is well tended — flowers and herbs grow healthily in neat rows. They are seated on a bench by a pebbled path and shaded by an olive tree.

“My mother's garden. It's peaceful, so I often come here.”

“So it's not peaceful elsewhere?” Hah, “Now, now, don't give me that look," he adds at the other's openly suspicious expression. "I may not be fully human, Prince Solomon, but I am no enemy of yours or humanity.”

Solomon blinks, stares, then finally slumps, relaxing — surprisingly expressive. “I know,” he confesses softly. “I sense no malice in your heart. That is why I did not banish you this time.”

Gasping in mock indignation, Merlin cries, “Are you accusing me of bearing malice in my heart before?”

For the first time, the prince cracks a smile, wry and a bit sheepish. “No, that was reflex. I'm not sorry, but I won't do it again. Tell me your name.”

“Mm, seeing as I'm from the future, and you're a Clairvoyant, I really shouldn't.” Merlin grins at Solomon's frown — _not so blank, after all; interesting._ “But you must call me something, yes? Then, like in a spy show in the distant future, you can call me M.”

“Mem?”

“Oh, it seems you will wake soon. I'll come again sometime.”

Back in his tower, Merlin smiles as he opens his eyes. Tantalizing, like the teasing scarcity of an amuse-bouche. Unexpectedly, it seems this will be fun.

The next time they meet, Solomon is a few years older and coming into the height of his beauty.

“You.” Hazel eyes light up in recognition — curious, welcoming. “I was starting to think you'd never come again.”

“Careful, princeling,” he drawls with a grin, skipping closer. “It sounds like you missed me.”

“Wh— O—of course not! I was just thinking you gave up too easily for a cambion!”

There's a dusting of red on the other's cheeks, though. Intriguing — he's not immune.

“Y—You could die like this, can't you?”

“Hm?” He blinks at the abrupt question, the unexpected concern.

“If… something goes wrong or my dream state changes, I could kill you, right?”

Ah, as expected of the King of Mages, even though he doesn't yet have the scientific words to describe what he means. “Only if you don't want me here.” He leans down to lock their gazes. “Do you?” he whispers, their lips barely an inch apart. “You could just say the word.”

“I'm…” The other swallows hard, licks dry lips, “…not sure. Why would you endanger yourself unnecessarily?”

“What's life without any risk? As they say in the future, ‘a ship is safe in harbour, but that's not what ships are built for.’ Nothing great was ever accomplished by playing it safe all the time.”

“D—”

“Besides, such concern for me already?” He traces a high cheekbone with his thumb. The sentiment is as sweet and fluffy as cake — perhaps this caring nature is why Solomon just keeps doing what is required of him even as a human now. “I have nothing to worry about then.”

The other moves to push his hand away, but doesn't let go. “My brother tried to have himself declared king today,” he volunteers suddenly, as if desperate to change the subject.

“Oh?” _The Time of Coronation Hath Come, huh…‘_ “You mean Adonijah?” he asks, sitting beside the newly crowned king on the bench.

Sharp eyes cut to him. “So you know.”

He laughs as a hint of suspicion returns like the crisp tang of a palate cleanser. “In my time, the story of your family will be told throughout the world. It's possible it wasn't all accurately handed down, though.”

Solomon opens his mouth, then closes it again — he knows better than to ask. Instead, at length, he says, “Maybe it would be easier if he did become king.”

“You don't wish to rule?”

Again, the young king starts to say something only to stop short and reconsider. “I'm afraid I won't be up to the task,” he admits warily at last.

“Even though you were chosen?”

Slowly, the other nods. “Father was chosen, too. That didn't prevent him from making mistakes. Being chosen does not mean you will not be tested, as we have learned from the life of our patriarch, Abraham. What if I fail?”

“Is that a sneaky way of asking what I know?” Merlin teases with a grin, and Solomon scowls.

“Of course not,” he snaps, standing. “Agh, why did I—”

Merlin catches his hand. “Your worries are proof that you are the right choice. Because you understand that to be king is to be something beyond human. I think you will do just fine.” He blinks — the words seemed to come of their own accord. Maybe it's a spot of déjà vu — it feels like he's said something similar to Altria before.

Solomon stares at their hands, but Merlin doesn't let go, waits to see if the king will pull away.

Yet, although it's clearly awkward, Solomon only cracks a smile. “For a moment there, you sounded like one of my advisers.”

“The king's adviser, huh?” Merlin muses, nostalgic. Altria would probably say he got her more into trouble than out of it, but “That's nice. I like the sound of that.” Well, if he didn't occasionally give some good advice and play the sage, he'd probably have been hunted into Avalon way earlier.

That nets him a laugh. “Certainly. What demon wouldn't?”

“Still with that?” He laughs along. “You really need to make up your mind.”

“Well, I'll go pray to my Lord for wisdom, then get back to you on my decision.”

Mirroring the king's playful grin, he stands. “You do that, dear king.” He kisses fine-boned knuckles, watching the other's cheeks colour prettily again. “You do that.”

Something's different this time — Solomon has changed. Even though everything in the dream looks the same, the atmosphere of the garden seems tense somehow, unlike before. When the king turns as he approaches, Merlin sees it — the ten rings and the intricate markings now adorning tanned hands.

So "How does it feel," he asks with a smirk, "now that you're working with demons all the time?"

"Necessity," Solomon replies coolly, "I understand it very well now."

Laughing, he comes to stand by the king's side. “Ah, I told you your prejudices would be short-lived.”

They're the same height now, and Solomon is stunning. He'd always thought it was a shame someone so beautiful was so boring, but it seems he was wrong — it wasn't that Solomon lacked will or personality; he was just never allowed to outwardly express any emotions, desires or opinions of his own. In these dreams, however, he's not bound by his role as the prophesied king.

Hazel eyes scrutinize him, as if trying to see into his core. “And yet, you are unlike them,” the other says at length.

“Finally!" He produces a bouquet of peach roses and offers it to his companion. "I'm charmed you agree.”

Even as the king takes the flowers, he retorts, “That wasn't a compliment,” but there's no heat in it. "And you still consume my spirit, do you not?"

“Not in the way you're thinking,” although that would certainly be more satisfying.

Solomon frowns, lifting his hand. “I should bind you with these rings, make you obey me and tell me your secrets.”

“Ooh, kinky…" Merlin steps in close with a lascivious grin. "What a tantalizing proposition!”

“Th—” Solomon steps back, eyes wide and face flushed. “That's not what I—!”

“That would _really_ get us in trouble with the Counter Force, though.” Merlin follows him, meets smooth fingertips with his own. “And it's a real pain.”

The king doesn't answer — he's staring at their fingers like he's forgotten how to breathe. He's attracted; of course he is — they all are. Usually, that's convenient, _delicious_ , but for someone so powerful to be like this, it's concerning — if Merlin didn't know better, he'd suspect their problems started here. He leans in, and hazel eyes snap to his own, searching.

“You shouldn't,” he chides softly, and Solomon starts hyperventilating, as if to catch up on the air he missed.

“What?” the king asks weakly, confused.

Merlin presses their palms together. “Seem so vulnerable before others of my kind. Most will use it against you.”

“Oh. O—of course.”

But although he nods in quick agreement, Solomon lets Merlin lace their fingers, folds his own instinctively over the hybrid's knuckles, and Merlin sighs — clearly, he's always been hopeless.

“Tsk, didn't you hear a word I said? How trusting.”

The tension suddenly drains, and Solomon slumps, smiling wistfully. “Don't worry. Outside of these dreams, I am merely an instrument of God's will.”

“You think no one else can find you here?”

The king's smile unexpectedly turns teasing. “Will you let them?”

“My, my…” Merlin mirrors it, leaning even closer. “Playing games you can't win, are we?”

“A—Adonijah asked permission to marry Abishag today!” Solomon blurts suddenly, flustered all over again, and it reminds him of raclette — warm, fluffy and mildly pungent.

Merlin smirks, but allows the change of subject. "Ah, Abishag. I heard she's very beautiful."

“That's not the— No, wait, of course you have no moral objections.” He lets go of Merlin's hand to run his own through his hair, turning away. “What was I thinking?”

“Moral objections?” Merlin raises an eyebrow. “I thought your father never bedded her.”

“That's not the point!” Solomon retorts, shrill. “He would have if he could have! Even as a bid for the throne, that's disgusting! He might as well have asked to marry my mother! And to have my mother ask on his behalf— why—”

“Do you know, in the future, they write songs about getting your best friend to sleep with your mother as a gift?”

For a long time, there is only stunned silence.

Merlin tries to preserve the effect by not laughing, but the look on the king's face makes it very difficult.

At length, “The human race is doomed, isn't it?” Solomon asks numbly, and the irony breaks the last of his restraint.

“Perhaps,” he manages, wiping his eyes. “Still, say you would sleep with me if you could sleep with me, but never do. Does that mean I'm cheating on you if I sleep with someone else?”

“Wh— H—” Solomon splutters, eyes wide. “W—why are we even talking about this?!”

Merlin shrugs, grinning. “The logic is exactly the same.”

“What? No, the issue isn't whether my father would have minded. No, in fact, in these matters, he might be as scummy as you, so I don't want to consider it.”

“Well, no matter,” Merlin lets it slide, giggling as the king massages his temple. “You can't give your brother the political opening, after all. But tell me,” he catches hazel eyes as Solomon glances up, “would you really be jealous if I shared dreams with other people now?”

Solomon wakes before he can answer, but Merlin will never forget the King of Mages' impression of a goldfish.

The next time he arrives, Merlin finds Solomon standing by the basin, washing his hands. The water is red, all red — like blood. Hazel eyes flick up as he approaches.

“Oh, M, it's you.” Solomon's tone is flat, and he simply continues to wash his hands, but it tastes… bitter, slightly, astringent, a hint of sourness — like oversteeped tea.

Merlin comes to stand behind him, looking into the basin over his shoulder. “What are you doing?” Silver curls are soft on his cheek, and they smell of sweet and smoky woods and resins — luxury incense.

“Washing my hands,” comes the pointed reply — 'is that not obvious?'

He takes the king's hands and lifts them out of the red water to inspect them. “They're cleaner than the water you're washing them in.”

To his surprise, Solomon shudders, then leans back. “You're probably right,” the king sighs, relaxing. “It's necessary, maybe even just. Either way, it's done.”

Merlin doesn't ask, waiting for Solomon to elaborate, but after several moments of heavy silence, the Magus turns slightly. “This is an ability of yours, isn't it?”

“Hm?”

The other averts his eyes. “Whenever you're near,” he pauses to gather his thoughts, “I want… to know you better, to be closer, for you to stay with me. It's different from others.”

 _Oh._ “Yes.” Sometimes, he forgets the effect is magnified in dreams. Steadying Solomon, he steps back. “I can keep my distance if you wish.” It'd be nothing but trouble if he affected the other's waking life.

“No.” The king whirls around to catch his hands firmly. “Didn't you hear anything I just said?”

Merlin chuckles, unresisting. “So you can justify anything that happens by blaming me? How unreasonable.”

The other grins. “It's nice to be that kind of king sometimes.”

“Instead of a machine?” Watching the records of Solomon's life, that's what the King of Mages had seemed like.

“What do you mean by machine?”

“An object designed to perform a specific function.”

“I see." The king nods. "That sounds about right. I was designed to lead the people of Israel according to God's will. Even my choice in life partners merely serves that purpose.”

“Oho? You're about to marry someone you don't like?”

“Someone I don't know,” he corrects, swinging their hands slightly. The motion reveals his arms, showing that the markings have spread — every stroke a different contract. “I've never even seen her.”

“Now, now… it's premature to be dissatisfied then.” Merlin leads him away from the basin in carefree circles. “Perhaps you'll like her.”

Solomon rolls hazel eyes. “I'm a Clairvoyant, remember? I'll respect her, that is all.”

“See, that's the problem with seeing the future. You get preconceived notions and make up your mind before you've even lived the reality. You never just enjoy the moment.”

“Except here.” The young king steps forward, Merlin guides him into a twirl, and he laughs as he does it twice. “Here, nothing matters, and I can be free. It's just a dream.”

Laughing along, the hybrid replies, “How irresponsible. You know that isn't true.”

“Well, if responsibility is all war, politics and executions, then I don't want it,” Solomon declares with an almost petulant tone, and Merlin is reminded how young his companion his, much like Altria when she drew Caliburn.

“Then you shouldn't have become king.”

“As if I had a choice.” Solomon drops onto the bench they've arrived at with a sigh. “From the moment of my birth, there was never any other option. But even disregarding God's plan, if Adonijah had become king, it would be my mother and I dead now, and sooner.”

 _Ah, that's true_ — at least Altria chose kingship freely. He sits. “Still, you wished for the wisdom to rule well.”

“How could I let my survival cause the people trouble?”

“Hah, that's surprisingly considerate of you.”

“S—surprisingly?!” Solomon straightens, indignant. “Just what kind of image do I have in your time?!”

“A vi— Oh no, wait.” Merlin cracks up. “I can't tell you.” Solomon punches his shoulder, then pummels his chest. “I can't tell you!” Still laughing, he catches the king's hands. “It's the rules!”

“You're the worst! Saying provocative things like that and then making excuses!”

“My, my, that's what you call provocative?” He smirks, hauling the other close. “Oh, the things I could teach you,” he murmurs huskily, lips brushing the shell of Solomon's ear. “To be sure, your wife will never forget her wedding night.”

Solomon jumps back, face red. “Wh— That's totally irrelevant! Why are you always saying things like that?!”

“Me? Even though you're the one who brings the matter up?” He's starting to really enjoy these visits — they're informative, certainly, but who would've thought Solomon had always been such fun deep down?

“I do not! You just twist everything into that subject!”

“It's in my nature, of course, but you'd be lying if you said you don't think of it often yourself. After all," Merlin winks, "you wouldn't be so embarrassed if my words didn't give you _ideas._ ”

“I— Why, you're completely corrupt! Anyone decent would be embarrassed. These are private matters!”

“Hardly. For many centuries, people would consummate their marriages in public to have witnesses thereto and to prove that the offspring issuing from the union were indeed theirs.”

“H—how barbaric!”

Merlin shrugs. “In the future, slavery is considered barbaric. But it's common practice in this era, isn't it?”

That gives Solomon pause.

“For a creature like me, that's even harder to understand — how easily humans accept seeing fellow humans as property when they would never want the same for themselves.”

“I see.” The king nods, expression pensive. “It's true customs and cultures change over time and place. But for your kind, you say all humans are the same? Then what makes you choose one victim over another?”

“Victim?" Merlin gasps in mock horror. "Oh my, if that's how you feel, I shouldn't come again.” That would be prudent either way — they can't _both_ be irresponsible.

“No!”

“No?”

Solomon hasn't let go of his hands and tightens his grip now. “That's not how I meant it at all!”

Ignoring the ill-advised temptation to kiss away the king's dismay, he lifts the other's hands. “Your choices, experiences and aspirations shape your thoughts and feelings, the taste of your spirit,” he explains with a grin. “And you, dear king, taste sweeter every time.” Solomon flushes as he kisses the rings — they tingle with magic on his lips, and for a moment, he longs to grant the Magus' every wish. “Oh, but if you feel victimized—”

“I told you that's not what I meant!”

Solomon scowls, and he giggles.

“Then you want me to come back?”

“Yes!” There's definitely magic this time, blanketing them like a quilt.

Well, he supposes that's fair.

It's easier to find Solomon now — Merlin feels drawn to this time, and he can't help but think he flirted with danger on purpose, for an excuse to continue having his fun against his better judgement. Vivian and Altria would surely complain he was being irresponsible again, but just watching all the fun gets old sometimes.

The sky over the garden is downcast today, the air heavy and dismal, but the king seems particularly distracted by the view inside his childhood home where he sits on the bench. Merlin wonders what Solomon is looking at — he can't see anything. Still, he bounds over to cover hazel eyes from behind.

“Surprise~ Guess who?”

“You're even worse at reading the mood than I am, M.” The other takes his hands and gently pulls them away, unusually subdued. “Tell me, do you choose this place?”

“Of course not.” Merlin sits down beside him, savours the taste of this new sentiment — a gentle bitterness suffused with various captivating flavours, it reminds him of coffee. “How could I? I've never seen the real thing. I merely enter your existing dream whenever I visit.”

“My existing dream…” Solomon deflates further. “Why…? When this is the last place I want to see right now…” He chokes up, trailing off.

“Hm?” Merlin tilts his head. “What's wrong? I thought you liked this place.”

Abruptly, Solomon all but dives forward, burying his face in Merlin's robes. His shoulders shake as he starts sobbing in earnest, and Merlin makes the connection before it's even explained — “Mother passed away today,” the other whispers hoarsely after several minutes, calming down.

Merlin hums, carding his fingers through wool-soft curls to soothe — anything he could say would only sound insincere. “Do you want a change of scenery?”

“Please.”

It's simple to exert a modicum of control over the dream, and the landscape shifts into a field of flowers beneath a clear blue sky. The corners of Solomon's mouth finally turn up slightly as a mound of carpet-like moss replaces the bench. More importantly, the sentiment has sweetened and warmed, like an influx of rich chocolate.

“You really do like flowers, don't you?”

“What's not to like? They look and smell beautiful. Many are also medicinally useful.”

Solomon nods. “Those star-shaped ones are pretty, but I like the smell of these white ones here — fresh and sweet.”

“Cypress and snowdrop.” Merlin points them out helpfully.

“Are there many flowers where you're from?”

“Hm… in a manner of speaking. Thousands of years into the future, humans will learn to build massive flower gardens even in the middle of the desert, so there are flowers almost everywhere, and not with Magic or Magecraft.”

“I see.” Solomon ponders this for a moment, then muses, “I suppose the eventual decline of Mystery is only natural, a matter of time and course as human civilization progresses. That is as it should be. The fact that you specifically used distinct terms for Magic and Magecraft suggests that the arts we now consider Magic will someday become relatively commonplace, with only a few secrets lost in time that are considered a higher order of Mystery, perhaps such as your ability to travel through time by your own power like this.”

“Oh my, I've said too much.”

The other snorts. “You don't seem very concerned.”

He shrugs. “I can't take it back now that I've said it, so why fret?”

Shaking his head, Solomon inspects his robes. “Thousands of years in the future, they dress like this, too?”

“Hardly.” Merlin grins. “But fashions change quickly in the future, so they might again soon. No matter, though, I'm a fan of vintage fashion.”

The king mirrors it. “Like you're a fan of vintage people?”

“Hah, are you flattering yourself now?”

The other straightens. “Then why are you here?”

Merlin smothers a snicker — such adorable honesty, and this taste like spicy mocha is growing on him. “Curiosity. I want to see for myself why you made the choices you would make in the future.”

“Just curiosity? Then— Then why pretend to like me?”

Giving in to giggling, Merlin ripostes, “Who said I was pretending?” surprised to find it's the truth. “Liking and being a fan are two different matters entirely.”

“A— Now you're just playing with me!”

The king _pouts_ , and Merlin bursts out laughing so hard, he'd have trouble breathing if he needed to. The expression looks terribly out of place with Solomon's regal beauty — the dorky green eyes and copper hair he would sport in the future suit him so much better.

 _To think he was always like this!_ “Mmhm~ I mean, it's fun, right? And in the future, you would have snapped something like, ‘You really overestimate the importance of your own opinion,’ right back at me.”

“Oh,” Solomon muses slowly, “So that's the kind of relationship we will have.” Slumping back into Merlin, he sighs, “It was like that with my mother, too — we were close enough to know that nothing would change our relationship. I could be myself with her, and now that she's gone, it's just… terribly lonely.”

It's on the tip of Merlin's tongue to say that reasoning couldn't be further from the truth, but Solomon is choking up again.

“I'm not even free to grieve. I mean, I know she's gone to a better place, and it's already a great blessing that she lived to see the Temple of our Lord completed, but I miss her so much already.”

“Tsk, indoctrinated platitudes. It's only natural to mourn and miss someone who's no longer with you. Even one such as I can understand that.”

“You, how do you do it?”

“Hm?”

“Knowing you will outlive us all, you still— Ah, perhaps it's different because you're not fully human?”

“Heh.” He smiles wistfully. “On the contrary, that's the one thing I can never get used to.” Out of the corner of his eye, he catches the pleasant surprise on his companion's face softening into fondness, and hurriedly changes the subject. “Still, even with so many wives, you have the time to be lonely?” he asks, keeping his tone light as he winds stray silver locks into a tidy braid.

“Heh. Meaningless," the other sighs, despondent. "They only love the throne. Some, like me, are merely fulfilling their duty. So it's all meaningless. Like chasing the wind.”

“Tsk,” he clicks his tongue. “What else have they to love? You barely know them. Perhaps if you spent some time talking to them, you'll find qualities you like in each other. Besides, you've already married them. It'd be a waste if that's all you did.”

“Aha! There it is!" Solomon cries. "Just as that was sounding too good to be coming from you!”

“Now, now, that's excellent advice, I'll have you know,” Merlin retorts. “An unforgettably intense orgasm does wonders in your favour. Ah, but of course, it's not like you'd know anything about that.”

The king smacks him.

Quite some time must have passed since his last visit — he's in a completely different garden now. It's a lot more opulent than the last one — Solomon must have constructed it himself. The king lies reclined on a shaded daybed surrounded by flowers and water features, and chides “You're late,” as he approaches.

“Am I?” He sits by the other's side, admires how far the markings on tanned arms and legs have spread. “What for?”

Solomon takes his arm for leverage to sit up. “Oh, celebrations, I suppose,” he replies dismissively, but he tastes like longing — like the smooth burn of a fine scotch that keeps one chasing that rich and smoky glow. “The completion of my new residence and other buildings, a visit from the Queen of Sheba and several weddings.”

“Ah, the Queen of Sheba. She's very beautiful.”

“Don't. I'd like to preserve the one woman who wasn't here for riches, power or marriage exactly as she is.”

“It's just a factual statement. You're very beautiful, too.”

Solomon opens his mouth, then closes it again, cheeks colouring. “Th—that's not the kind of compliment a man is happy to hear.”

“Factual statement,” Merlin repeats pointedly. “And you don't seem unhappy to hear it.” No, if anything, Solomon is disturbed by the fizz of sweet happiness he's hiding, and it'd be cute if this weren't centuries before Merlin's time. “Speaking of the Queen, though, do you know, in the future, your meeting with her will be the subject of grand music compositions, sculptures, frescoes, paintings, written tales, performed shows and much more? There will even be a country that claims its rulers were descended from your offspring with her.”

“I never touched her,” the king declares sharply, and Merlin shrugs.

“I know. But your reputation clearly gives it credence.”

The other sighs, resigned, and Merlin is disappointed by the dissipation of that delicious bourbon and cola flavour. Solomon waves at the rows of colourful flower bushes. “Do you like the flowers? I let my wives choose the types.”

“Which?” he asks, teasing, shelving his concerns for the moment. “The existing ladies or the new batch?”

“Existing,” Solomon mumbles, looking away guiltily, and mm, this new flavour is good, too.

“What, so they'd feel better about the new competition?”

The king flinches. “One of my advisers suggested it.”

Merlin doesn't even try not to snicker. “So you'll think of them every time you see their chosen flowers instead of forgetting they even exist among the harem crowd?”

“Ugh, do you or do you not like them?!” A kick, like a dash of hot sauce.

He's moderately successful at not laughing this time. “Of course I do. They're beautiful.”

“Good. That's good. I'm glad you like them.”

Solomon is genuinely relieved, though, and suddenly, it's not so funny anymore.

“You planted them for me,” he murmurs, cold realization dawning. “While awake.” Come to think of it, the king also kept the braid, and not just while dreaming.

“What? No, don't flatter yourself, M. I planted them in remembrance of my late mother, but if you like them, then maybe she will, too. I don't have any special feelings about flowers, so I wanted your opinion.”

Well, he hopes that's true —it's a lot less trouble that way— but he still renews the psychic walls that keep other entities out and the memories of these dreams in. “And you tricked your wives into thinking it was for them?” He grins, waving a finger. “Naughty.”

“I didn't trick them,” Solomon insists, tone sulky. “I just asked them to choose a flower each for my garden and let them jump to their own conclusions.”

“Teehee~ This wouldn't even be necessary if you just stopped marrying more women, you know.”

“You say that like it's so easy!”

“But it is. You're the most powerful king in your time and place, aren't you? You just need to stand up for yourself.”

“Look,” the other sighs, “I'm doing what is required to maintain the peace and prosperity God willed after all the war we've seen in my father's time. If I agree to marry some and not the others, their fathers will see it as an insult.”

“Oh, at least admit to your own cowardice. By maintaining this status quo, you consign them to a life with someone who doesn't even remember their names.”

Solomon winces. “Th—”

“No? Do you even know which lady is whose daughter? Or which chambers a— wait, have you even bedded them all? Is the marriage legitimate if you haven't consummated it?”

“Can you stop?!” comes punctuated with a smack on the arm. “If you're not going to be helpful, then I don't want to think about it here.”

“Now, now, you got yourself into this, you know. If you'd just stuck to the old rules instead of agreeing to marry Pharaoh's daughter, it would have narrowed the list of eligible ladies down to a scant twelve tribes.”

Groaning, the king flops back gracelessly. “Do you think there's a royal adviser left in the palace who hasn't belaboured that point to death? Do you?”

“Doesn't matter. You clearly didn't listen.”

The other kicks him. “It was an important alliance!”

“Sure, sure, let your God make an example of you. What about the sixth one?”

“She was the only woman I'd met till then that I could have a decent conversation with!” Solomon straight up whines, and Merlin can't hold back his laughter.

“All right, and the n—”

“Agh, leave me alone already! I was always only doing as I was told, so whenever no explicit commands were given, I didn't know how to say no, all right? There, I've admitted it. Are you happy now?” A cushion hits him in the face, but it only makes the situation funnier, and he can't stop laughing. This only infuriates his companion who starts throwing all the daybed's cushions at him. “Ngh, you irreverent meanie, get out, get out, get out!”

Still laughing, Merlin obliges, but not before he's caught a cushion and returned the favour, hitting Solomon squarely in the face.

The pull to see Solomon is actually quite weak, since that accidental command didn't specify a time frame, but its sudden absence is keenly felt, and Merlin can't help but wonder how Solomon is faring, whether the stories he heard about the incident are true. So once he's watched everything else of interest that day, he settles in for a visit.

Solomon isn't even dreaming when Merlin finds him. It seems more like the other collapsed from exhaustion rather than fell asleep. Gently, Merlin nudges him deeper, catches him as he falls into the dreamscape. It's a formless space now, so Merlin creates a clear stream surrounded by flowers and lays Solomon down beneath a pear tree.

Still, Solomon doesn't stir, and Merlin wonders if it will work just like in the fairytales — silencing a giggle, he leans in and kisses full lips.

Oh, they're pillow-soft, and they part readily for him, too. As he caresses the other's tongue with his own, he contemplates what this mouth would taste like in the physical world — Solomon's spirit always tastes so sweet. Slowly, the other starts to respond, kissing back instinctively, and Merlin smiles — this is nice.

But of course that's when hazel eyes fly open, and Solomon shrieks as he leaps up.

“OW!” they yelp as one, falling back and rubbing the spots where their heads collided.

“Ouchouchouch, talk about poorly thought out.”

“Th— W—what were you doing to me?!”

Solomon scuttles back to huddle against the tree, and despite the still-smarting bump forming on his head, “Oh, you know,” Merlin manages between peals of laughter — the king with hundreds of wives and concubines reacting like a scandalized maiden is just too funny. “In the future, there are many popular stories about princesses being woken by a kiss.” He sits up, wiping his eyes. “I was testing to see if it works on kings, too.”

The other gapes. “You know no shame.”

“Mm, so I've been told. But look, it worked!" he pronounces brightly. "You're awake! In this dream, at least.”

But Solomon slumps at that, shaking his head with a frown. “Even if I accept that logic, it proves nothing. I'm not a king anymore.”

“Nonsense,” Merlin chides mildly, moving to sit beside the other man. “Once a king, always a king. History won't even remember the time you weren't. Besides, kings are not born, Solomon; they are made. No royal house was ever founded by one who was born king. If indeed you have the qualifications to sit upon that throne, then you will most certainly sit upon it again.”

When only silence meets his words, he turns to find Solomon staring at him.

“What? Should we resume?”

“Wh— No!” Solomon slaps his thigh, catching the pointed look. “It's just… you say some surprisingly insightful things sometimes.”

“Of course!" He waves his hands in a flourish, and a burst of flower petals showers pompously upon him. "I'm everyone's favourite adviser!”

The other snorts. “And that was the first time you've said my name.”

“Second,” he corrects, plucking a sprig of lavender.

“Really? Oh, yes, you must have, back when we first met.” Solomon smiles, strangely happy despite his circumstances.

 _Well, he wasn't happy being king anyway._ “So what happened?”

The king groans, hugging his knees more tightly and burying his face in them. “You'll laugh at me.”

Merlin snickers. “Sure, it's already funny.”

“I hate you,” he mumbles sullenly to Merlin's amusement.

“That sounds about right.” He brushes Solomon's ear with the sprig of lavender.

“Ah, stop!” The other pushes his hands away, laughing – it tickles. “Stop that!”

“So tell me.” He persistently switches angles, evading Solomon's attempts to block or catch his hands. “Tell me, tell me, tell me~”

“No!”

“If you don't, I'm going to grope you,” he warns, grinning.

“No! Wh— Ack!!” Solomon jumps — he pinched the king's bottom, dangerously near the crotch.

“I warned you~”

“You're the scummiest of scummy scumbags!!” Solomon cries, smacking him repeatedly.

Catching the other's hands, he threatens, “Next, I'll grope you until you tell me!” and starts hauling him closer, closer—

“Okay! All right! It was Asmoday!”

He honourably lets go, and Solomon settles back down beside him, looking adorably sulky.

“Go on.”

“Look, this going to sound really dumb, but he asked me to lend him the Ring of Aandaleeb to demonstrate something, and I did. There, are you happy now?”

“And… that Voice in your head didn't tell you it's the stupid idea that it is?”

“Uh… About that…” Solomon curls into himself morosely.

“Oh, you lost it. What did you do?”

“I— My w— I th— No, you know what? I really don't want to talk about it.”

“Well, considering there's only one way you could have… tsk,” he clicks his tongue. “How irresolute.”

“And you know what the worst part is?” The other flops bonelessly into his side. “It didn't make any difference.”

“There, there.” Merlin pats his companion's shoulder, comforting. “I expect you've learned your lesson. But seriously, though, Asmoday? You needed to be told not to trust that ugly slimeball?”

“Ugh, stop. Stop rubbing it in…”

“No, no, I'm _offended._ You were so suspicious of me when we first met, but you'd trust _Asmoday_ of all demons? With your most important Ring?!”

The other makes a miserable sound, like he's mumbled something pitifully into his robes.

“What was that?”

“I said, I'm sorryyyy!” Solomon suddenly clutches his arm. “Don't leave me alone out here in the middle of the desert!”

“What? Oh, you're hopeless,” Merlin sighs. “You're supposed to be searching for important things like water and shelter, not sleeping and chatting with li'l ol' me.”

“Well, I'm exhausted,” the king retorts petulantly, making himself comfortable on Merlin's shoulder. “Let me sleep a while longer.”

Shaking his head, Merlin settles in as well, resting his head on soft silver hair. It's not like there's any real cause for worry — he knows Solomon will survive. So he closes his eyes, enjoys the sentiment like warm brownies as they rest amidst the lavender-scented breeze and the bubbling sound of water. It's serene, calming — much better than the reality the king is facing.

“Hey, M?” Smooth fingertips trace idle patterns on his hand.

“Hm?”

Solomon hesitates. “Why do you keep coming back?”

With his free hand, he pokes the other in the ribs. “You know why." In truth, these shared dreams are now the highlight of his day, but he only says, "You're hopeless; you need the advice.”

The other catches that hand to stop him. “No, I— Really?”

“Besides, I enjoy human activities, delicious friend.” Wisdom should've kept him away after the braid and flowers, probably, but Altria would be the first to attest that he's always been more troublemaker than sage.

“D—deli— But for a cambion, doesn't that mean… you like me as a person?”

Merlin lets out an exasperated chuckle. “So first you accuse me of pretending to like you, then now you're saying it doesn't seem like I do?”

“I'm not accusing you of anything!”

“If you're asking, that means you're not sure, are you?”

“Why can't you just answer the question?” Solomon elbows him crossly. “Do you?”

“Sure I do,” he replies with a wink. “See, I like flowers, pranks and girls. Guess which of those you're most like?”

Solomon punches him in the face.

In hindsight, Merlin reflects, he should have stuck to just watching. He could have satisfied his curiosity well enough without living dangerously. The lingering rich sweetness of attachment and affection is unmistakable, and it would be naïve to think that it hasn't impacted the other's waking life. He can't deny he knew better, either — this happens every time, comes with the territory.

Still, the damage is done, and if the Counter Force hasn't shown up to correct things, then he's certainly not going to sit out the best part — now where no one knows his real identity and the Voice of God is silent, Merlin expects that life will be interesting for Solomon, just like on Altria's journey around Britain before she ascended the throne.

So he goes anyway, seeks out that familiar mind across time and space.

It's difficult to time precisely, but he seems to be in the ballpark at least. The first few times, Solomon was too exhausted even to dream, much like that time in the desert, so he merely took his usual sip of honeyed spirit and left the man to rest. This time, however, he finds himself in a palatial bedroom, presumably Solomon's own.

“Ah, I miss this,” the king sighs where he's lying spread-eagled on a massive bed.

“Of course you do." He sits beside the monarch, runs his hands approvingly over luxurious sheets. "Don't you just hate to think about Asmoday enjoying all of this in your place?”

“Oh, I'll burn the sheets for sure. That's nothing. I hate to think of how he's ruining my reputation.”

Merlin snickers. “Don't worry — your wives, at least, aren't complaining. I'm sure he's better in bed than you are.”

“Just so we're clear, M,” Solomon snaps, hazel eyes sharp, “I don't need that Ring to banish you.”

“I know,” he agrees, “but you won't,” dropping to peck the other on the forehead.

The glare and scowl don't soften, but their effect is somewhat diminished by pink cheeks and the fluffy fuzzy sweetness like cotton candy — it's all at once impossibly cute and satisfying to see the great King of Mages like this, but Merlin only lies down, so they're face to face, sinking into the soft yet firm mattress.

“Mm~ It _is_ comfy.”

Solomon heaves another loud sigh. “Where I am now, I may as well be sleeping on the stone floor with how little improvement the 'bed' is.”

“Where _are_ you now anyway?”

“Some Ammonite king's palace,” the other replies, “I didn't think there were any left, thought my father sacked them all,” with a sardonic smile.

“Ouch. I hope they never find out who you are.”

“Heh. I doubt it'll ever cross their minds that the dusty traveller who came looking for work with nothing but the sleeping robes he's wearing could possibly be King Solomon. But, just in case, I gave them a pseudonym, Elam.”

“Hidden, huh?" Merlin flicks his companion's nose. "Cute. So what work did they give you, dear delicious Elam?”

“Kitchen helper.” Solomon chuckles, self-deprecating. “I was hopeless at everything else.”

Merlin snorts. “Not the kind of work you're used to?”

“It's exhausting!” the king whines. “And crazy! I had no idea how much work goes into preparing just one meal!”

“I'm glad it has been an eye-opening experience.”

“And you know what the craziest thing is? All that work, and it's not even good." Solomon grimaces. "The result is hardly worth the effort. It's like… the cook has no idea what good food is supposed to taste like.”

“You're right — he doesn't. Unlike you, he never had the opportunity to sample the finest delicacies from across the lands because he wasn't born a prince in a prosperous kingdom.”

It's a statement of fact, but the king looks chastised.

“Well, it's not like you can't fix it," he continues. "You know what everything should taste like. Just reverse engineer it and show the others how it's done.”

The other scoffs without turning. “As if they'd ever let some lowly scullion do any actual cooking.”

“Well… if all the cooks just happen to fall sick one day…”

Solomon does turn this time, horrified, and he smiles openly, the picture of innocence.

“Has anyone else told you you're a terrible person?”

“All the time. But it's not like I said to give them something deadly. They just need to eat something wrong and spend some convenient time in the bogs… just as the king is calling for his lunch, of course.”

He barely gets the chance to wink before Solomon actually banishes him.

“Augh, I knew it,” Solomon groans, flopping over face down, as Merlin materializes on the bed. “I knew I couldn't have come up with that idea on my own.”

“Oh? Don't short-change yourself, Solomon,” he replies as he checks the walls, but they're intact — that's not the problem. “You're perfectly capable whenever the need arises.” And even without conscious memories, these dreams can give rise to waking ideas — he knew the risks.

“I didn't mean to get them fired!” the other whines, muffled by the bed.

“You're a king yourself. Don't deny you knew what you would have done in that king's place. Besides, what's that compared to setting up circumstances for people to cause their own deaths, not saving people that you very well could have, cutting a baby in half—”

“I wasn't actually going to cut the baby in half,” Solomon protests, peppery. “I knew the real mother would stop it.”

“But you don't deny the rest, do you?” Merlin tugs the king's shoulder till he rolls over and taps his nose. “Don't forget I know exactly how cold, weak-willed or cowardly you can be, Solomon. You needn't pretend for me.”

He catches hazel eyes pausing on his lips before meeting his gaze, and he recognizes that look, that taste — desire. He doubts Solomon will act on it, but they're already in dangerous waters — although the outcome is the same, he needs to be more careful.

No, if he's honest, he needs to stop visiting, but—

The other averts his eyes. “I was created to better God's kingdom of Israel. I've never been allowed to do anything but obey, and I thought… just once, if I stood up for myself and did what I wanted, would I be happier?”

“Well, are you?”

“Maybe.” A tentative smile curves soft lips. “Even if it was foreordained, this is the closest I've ever come to freedom. And this satisfaction of doing something well by my own hand, by my own ability…” Solomon lifts his hands to look at them, pensive — _tastes like a bowl of hot hearty soup on a cold day,_ Merlin concludes, _lovely._

“It's mysterious,” Solomon muses. “Even though it's merely as simple as cooking a good meal, I can scarcely think of a better feeling.”

“Mm, well done.” He grins. “Cook me something sometime.”

“Coo— Cambions eat human food?”

“We don't have to, but we can certainly enjoy it. Of course the sentiment that goes into preparing it is a key factor, but we have physical tastebuds like full humans, too. Anyway,” Merlin sits up, crossing his arms with a smirk, “It's a shame. If you'd cared to exercise this will earlier, you might have made many people happier.”

“You— Gah, I'm never cooking for you.” The king turns away. “What a— You said there's a future in which we have to work together? How does that even work? You're insufferable.”

Oh, good — less complicated. “Let's see," he holds up a tall sunflower and plucks at its petals to count, "I'm a genius Magus, handsome, charming, full of great ideas—”

“You mean full of yourself!” Solomon interjects, craning his neck to shoot Merlin a glare. “You're useless to me as a mage and an inveterate purveyor of bad advice!”

“How condescending and ungrateful! Just as you got what you wanted by following my plan, too. Who would put up with that attitude if you weren't king?”

Hazel eyes flash. “You know what? I don't want to hear anything about an attitude problem from the likes of you.”

“Well, the guy who caused the most problems shouldn't criticise anyone,” he retorts smugly.

“Y— Wait, what do you mean?”

Oops. “Oh, you know the rules... I can't tell you.”

Solomon scowls. “I hate you.”

“There you are; that's it.” This is better, safer. “Now you sound like I remember.”

“Oh my God, you're serious.” The king raises his hands to the heavens. “O Lord, how shall I live like this?”

Merlin leans over, winking. “Just so. I notice you didn't object to handsome and charming.”

“I— It's not even worth acknowledging! Your ego doesn't need any inflating!!”

He giggles, poking a warm cheek. “You can admit it, you know. Just as I don't deny your intellect and beauty, there's nothing wrong with recognizing facts. See, I'm the envy of most mages, indeed most people even, and it's only natural to find me attractive.”

Solomon gapes at him. “Unbelievable.”

“I know. You're talking to a legend. It's pretty hard to believe.”

“You can say all that with a straight face,” the king breathes, wide-eyed.

“Of course. It's the truth. And especially in matters of lovelife, I am also a veritable expert with vast experience, so you are always most welcome to receive my consultation.”

“Wow.” Solomon sits up, shaking his head in numb disbelief. “I used to think my father had hit rock bottom, but you, M, have achieved new levels of scum.”

“Hey, you know what?” Merlin shifts to recline on the pillows. “You, who can't even win the heart of a woman who's already your wife, are in no position to question my, or King David's, expertise in this area.”

The other doesn't react, but connected in this shared dream, Merlin feels the stab of pain — he's hit a really sore nerve.

Just as he's wondering how long the king will keep up the silent treatment, Solomon asks, “C—can you really help me?” There's a nervous energy in the air now, despite the hesitance.

“Oh?” Merlin sits up, shifts closer. “With what?”

“W—well, there's this girl…” Solomon half-turns, biting his lip shyly.

“Ooh~” Merlin grins, excited.

“Don't laugh at me.”

“Oh no, sincerely, I'm excited for you. Do tell.”

“I— Well, she comes by the kitchen to request certain dishes for her family, and—”

“You mean she's the princess.”

Solomon freezes. “Y—yes, well.”

“Make no mistake, my dear Solomon. If she chooses you, thinking you a commoner, they will banish you both. Even so, you wish to pursue this?”

“Well, we've been talking, and… I like her. She's righteous, nice and intelligent, and I think… Maybe she likes me?” The other wrings his hands. “You know, as I am. Not King Solomon. Which is—”

“All you've ever wanted,” Merlin finishes with a smile, covering those hands with his own to stop them. And he gets it — dreams and illusions are wonderful, but everyone wants something real in the end. They all did, even the fae.

“Yes.” Solomon laces their fingers, hazel eyes hopeful. “So… what do I do? I mean, I've never had to… you know…?”

“Actually court a lady?”

The king shoots him a dirty look, but nods.

Smothering a giggle, Merlin contemplates it. “Well, as they say about hmm... three thousand years in the future? 'It's in his kiss,' so you should kiss her.”

Solomon's jaw drops. “W—what kind of depraved era do you come from?! We don't do that before marriage here, you immoral cambion!”

“Oh, that's right,” Merlin considers, “You can't sample the goods before you buy them in this age.”

“Ye—” Solomon cuts himself off, realization dawning and turning to horror. “How uncouth!”

He laughs — the other's expressions are so amusing, and the nasal kick of that indignation reminds him of the horseradish they used to serve with roasts in Altria's court. “Now, now, repression is no good for you.”

“You— Are you going to give me any viable advice or not?!” Having never had the opportunity to sulk as a child, Merlin supposes the king should be forgiven for this sulky petulance that he somehow manages to make cute despite his age.

“Honestly, Solomon, just be yourself.”

“Eh?”

“Sure, there are all kinds of strategies and gestures you could use, but that's not what you want, is it? If you want someone who likes your true self, then that's who you have to be with them, flaws and all.”

Solomon makes a muffled sound of agreement, but doesn't seem convinced.

“Hey.” He tightens his grip, making the other glance up. “If you have to put on some kind of façade just to make her like you, would you still want her? You just said, all you've ever wanted is someone who loves you exactly as you are.”

Hazel eyes widen. “Yes. You're right. It wouldn't be sad then because it's not a loss of something I wanted anymore.”

“Right. Make your intentions clear, so you know from the start whether she's receptive to a romantic relationship, and be yourself. Oh, and remember," he winks, "it's the little things that show your sincerity and thoughtfulness.”

Solomon smiles and nods, squeezing back. “All right.”

Merlin sighs, pacing listlessly.

It's getting too dangerous to visit Solomon so often, and he shouldn't distract the king from his courtship of Naamah anyway. But all around the world, it's just the same mundane occurrences today — there's nothing fun to watch yet.

Bored, he turns his mind's eye to Romani Archaman. Now a normal human without Clairvoyance, the medical student wouldn't know he was watching. That's how this started, really — watching the Holy Grail War in Fuyuki.

Solomon looked straight at him and mouthed, “Magus of Flowers. You have no respect for privacy.”

“I watch everything, King of Mages," he responded, projecting to the Caster's side so they could speak in person. "If you were in my situation, you would do the same.”

“Hmph." Solomon turned away in disdain. "Your situation is of your own making, but no matter. You who see only the present, what could you possibly do?”

He'd never considered Magecraft, or even Clairvoyance, to be his particular forte, but the dismissal rankled him. “Oh, had I but the desire to interfere, Solomon, you would see the possibilities are endless.”

Hazel eyes were cold as they took in his fierce smile. “It's useless. All Magecraft falls under my control.”

“Heh.” He smirked. “Your kind, as always, lacks imagination. Who said it had to be Magecraft?”

He'd returned to his tower then, determined to prank the other Magus at any unexpected moment. He got a few in, including collapsing furniture, fireworks mines and timely malfunctions, before Solomon started actively looking out for them. The pranks and the Caster's regular wary glances thereafter were the only source of entertainment in an otherwise dead boring Holy Grail War.

Solomon won, of course —easily, dispassionately— and was completely ready to die activating the Third Magic. Fortunately for him, his Master had his pride as a Magus — Marisbury wished for the money to achieve his own accomplishments instead of completing the Einzberns' dream. Solomon, on the other hand, looked warily at him one last time, and when it became clear that Merlin had no intention of looking away, made his own wish.

He'd been so hesitant, so happy — no one had ever asked him what he wanted before.

But then he'd woken up screaming.

“Merlin. Merlin! Oh, come on, don't pretend you're not watching. This is important, damn you!”

It was tempting to keep ignoring the panicked summons, to just watch the newly incarnated human pace anxiously in the apartment he'd supposedly been living in for several years, especially given that he clearly expected to be answered.

Then, “Please. Merlin, it's important, I swear.”

“To you,” Merlin agreed, materializing on the other's bed at last — deeming that pleading tone a lot more appropriate. The room was dim with just a night light on, and the sheets were damp — cold sweat.

“The world,” S—no, Romani snapped, storming over, “is going to end soon. That's important to everyone, isn't it?”

“Sure.” He shrugged carelessly. “Then I'll finally be free from that boring ol' tower.”

Romani gaped. “You— Oh, it was foolish of me to hope a monster like you might help.” He ran slender fingers through copper hair. “God, I hate you.”

“How exactly do you know this anyway?”

The human faltered at the challenge — they both knew he'd lost his Clairvoyance, after all.

“I…” Romani stopped, leaning against his desk and wrapping his arms around himself. “I had a dream.”

Merlin swung his legs down to the floor to rise. “And you think your nightmare is a vision? A Revelation?”

“It felt like a vision,” the other mumbled, unsure, gaze trained sullenly on the floor. “You know what I mean.”

“Show me.”

He reached out as he came to stand right before the human, but stopped just short of touching. Romani is somewhat taller, but with the other's hips resting on the desk, they were level when green eyes flicked up to search his.

“How else will I know what to look for?”

The uncertainty and distrust were clear, but Romani obviously conceded the point, consenting with a small nod.

Gently, Merlin combed his fingers through copper hair, touching more than just skin. The other's eyes fell shut, then—

A gasp — he's in.

_For the moment, he's staring at a model of the earth. A nearby monitor indicates the date, cycling forward one day per second. Suddenly, an alarm goes off, and the model flares red, then goes dark._

_01012016, the flashing numbers are branded into his retinas with searing clarity — a vision, it's a vision; only a fellow Clairvoyant would know._

_Then the scene explodes, and he's hurled through fire and ash… hot and slow,_ too slow— __

 _Till his back hits hard stone, and a massive dragon is staring him down. It moves to attack, and he runs, runs for his life, but he can hear wingbeats behind him — smaller, swifter, and he can't get away fast enough. Wyverns, they must be —he doesn't turn to check— and their breath on his heels is harsh as storm winds, hot as lava. But he trips, of course,_ of course, and shitshitshit, _these broken sculptures, he knows them, he knows—_

_It's cold, suddenly. Dark and cold instead, and he's choking on thick fog. White stone melts into black mud beneath his feet, and he's struggling, sinking, suffocating; reaching towards a red sky lit by bands of light. Then—_

Romani screamed, spasming as a flare of white-hot pain snapped them violently out of the memory, and Merlin caught him just before he slid limply to the floor. The human trembled, clearly shaken, and allowed Merlin to hold him as he struggled to calm his racing heart and ragged breaths.

“Tell me, Merlin,” he whispered, hoarse. “Tell me it's not true. Tell me it's just a dream.” A challenge, a plea.

“Heh, you said it yourself, Solomon — I can only see the present. How should I know?” It was vivid, though, vivid and terrible, but it was not his place to confirm or deny.

Romani let out a sardonic laugh. “You really are totally useless. Why did I even bother?”

He scoffed, “I'm sure it'd be far less _useless_ to forsake your wish and confirm things for yourself.”

The human stiffened, hands fisting in fine robes. “You don't know what you're asking of me.”

“No, but I intend to find out.”

Romani leaned back. “What are you pl—”

The words died on his lips as Merlin tilted his chin for a closer look. “So expressive. You're much better like this, you know.” That was the most emotion he'd sensed from Solomon ever, and he'd even watched parts of the other's lifetime by spying on the Atlas Academy. More importantly, that nightmare, vision or otherwise, was _delicious._ Like absinthe — lay a little sugar on and—

The other blushed, pushing his hand away. “No one asked you.” _How delightful~_

Still, Romani Archaman didn't move, and Merlin had a moment to wonder before “You won't let it, will you? Come to pass, I mean. I—if the world ends…”

“I run out of food and entertainment, yes.”

The human thunked his head on the wall behind him. “God, you really are inhuman. Even by my standards—”

He laughed. “No, no, I do have half an ego, you know, so I think it'd be terrible if we ended up with a blank slate of endless sand. Phantasmals lose their meaning without humans, after all.” He lifts the other to his feet. “I will watch over the world as I always have, Solomon. But you know as well as I do, our time, our fate, has long since passed. Only the humans of the present can shape the future.”

“Is there nothing we can do?” Romani whispered almost to himself, still slumped. “Now that I finally have this chance…”

Merlin poked his brow. “Have you forgotten? You are Koheleth. We will guide them, as we always have. But above all, enjoy this life, Romani Archaman. This chance may never come for you again.”

But, of course, instead of making the most of his wish, the silly thing proceeded to study himself into a frenzy. Sure, there were brief moments in which he'd taken in the sights and sounds of the modern age, and Merlin watched his delight at experiencing all the new concepts and inventions of the last few centuries, remembered his own delight at each novelty that showed up. But mostly, Romani buried himself in every manner of research, haunted by the terror of that nightmare that he only assumed was the last vestiges of his Clairvoyance forewarning him of the ultimate disaster.

Even now, the medical student is studying in the library with his classmate. “Aha.” That's new — if he looks closely, he can see where she resembles Naamah a little.

But she's talking about how one of their other classmates asked her out just last week and how much fun they had on their first date, and it's only a split second, but he catches Romani's look of disappointment. Oh, of course he was working up the courage to ask her out himself — heck, that's probably why they're studying together today.

Merlin shakes his head, chuckling. “Still so hopeless.”

Romani sneezes just then and excuses himself to go to the bathroom. Looking into the mirror, he heaves a loud sigh. “It's better this way,” he murmurs, smiling ruefully, and Merlin recognizes that look in green eyes — resignation.

“My, my, giving up already? Irresolute as ever.”

They resume studying for a bit, but then Romani excuses himself. He seems to know almost everyone, if the greetings are any indication, but he only goes straight back to his dorm room. He cooks himself a simple dinner and eats in front of his computer, working on his assignments and reading for his next classes, then surfing some online forums and watching idol videos. On a night where everyone he knows is out socializing, Romani Archaman goes to bed alone, researching till he falls asleep, and Merlin ponders, “You're afraid they'll ask once they get close enough, aren't you?" He's learned a lot about Solomon's real personality recently. "You don't know if there's an enemy, much less who it is, so you're afraid to trust anyone, and if it's true that you're running out of time, you want to spare yourself and others the pain. Hah," he shakes his head again. "I told you to enjoy this life, but you really haven't changed one bit.”

He could warn Romani, he supposes —he's figured out who their enemy is— but it won't change a thing. No, it would only give the other more stress, more regrets and no solutions — there's no way to change the past without causing more problems, no way for them to prepare for or avert the result that Solomon foresaw in his dream. Rejecting that fate is something only humans of this age can do.

So he watches as the other tosses and turns restlessly in sleep, reaches out unthinkingly. “Mm~ You have the tastiest nightmares,” he murmurs as the other calms, and the silhouette outlined by the thin T-shirt and shorts is tempting. He wants to touch — goodness knows no one else has anyway.

Snickering at the thought, he sighs, “Even when you're finally free to live as you please, you're still only doing what is required. Are you happy this way, Roman?” He trails his fingertips, featherlight, over a bare arm to an almost imperceptible shudder, then a contented sigh. “There's no romance in this.”

Just then, he feels a prickle at the edge of his senses and quickly pulls back, letting the naturally high mana density of Avalon conceal his presence as he returns to watching the world at large. He'll have to be more cautious going forward — he can't show any hints of special interest.

Their enemy is on the move.

Against his better judgement, Merlin goes back.

He can't do anything in the present time without attracting attention, so he's entirely too bored for the ten-metre radius of space available to him.

To his surprise, he finds Solomon hugging his knees on a mossy hill amidst a field of flowers. It looks much like the one Merlin showed him before, only with a cloudy sky.

“Solomon?”

“M?! ”The king all but leaps to his feet and runs over to shake him. “W—where have you been?!”

He blinks — it's like Solomon can't decide whether he's happy or angry. “Doing what I should. What's the matter?”

Abruptly, the other throws bare arms around him. “It's been so lonely without you,” he sighs, nuzzling fine robes, and despite growing surprise, Merlin only returns the embrace.

“Lonely? Didn't you marry the girl of your dreams?”

Solomon laughs — empty, sardonic. “I did.” He sits down, tugging Merlin along. “And as you said, her parents banished us. Even so, we were happy. We travelled from city to city to leave her kingdom, then finally, we reached the coast and stopped for lunch in a seafood restaurant.”

“You found your Ring,” Merlin surmises slowly.

The king inclines his head, “In the belly of the grilled fish we ordered," then buries his face in his hands. "God, I wish I'd ordered squid or some smaller fish instead.”

“Don't say that,” he chides gently, taking the other's hand where the ornament in question is now back in its rightful place. “No one else could ever be worthy of it.”

Solomon smiles genuinely this time, leaning in, and it's like a smooth, sweet wine that's all too easy to drink. “Anyway, we went back to my palace, of course. I kicked Asmoday out, fixed all the problems he caused, and Naamah, you know, she was delighted at first.”

“Of course.”

“But then… she changed,” is the description he settles on. “Maybe that's how all women mature. Now she's just like all the others — scheming, calculated, manipulative.”

“Hardly,” Merlin scoffs. “That's an unfair generalization.”

“Oh, right. You did say you like girls.”

“Wh—hahaha, yes, but that's hardly the point. Let's see… do you remember what you said about becoming king?”

“You mean that I was afraid I wouldn't be up to the task?” Solomon asks wryly.

“No, you hopeless wimp. That if you didn't inherit the throne, you and your mother would be put to death.”

“Ouch,” the other mutters, deadpan.

“I imagine your wives feel the same way your mother did when she made your father promise to name you his successor. What mother wouldn't seek to preserve her child? You know this perfectly well to be true.”

Solomon heaves a loud sigh. “Yes, you're right of course. But I still wish those simpler days never ended. It was a vacation akin to a dream. Once again, now, I am merely the king that God and His people require. This kingdom, these riches… vanity, nothing but vanities and meaningless as chasing the air. I'd give them all to live even a totally unremarkable life, happy and free.”

“I see. So this is your wish.” This, then, is the answer he sought — why a king like no other wished for life as a normal human… before wasting it trying to prepare for the inevitable.

Solomon chuckles, teasing. “Can you grant it?”

He laughs along. “Only in your dreams.”

“Then don't ever leave again.” The light tone belies the king's completely serious expression. “Come to me every night.”

“What am I, one of your wives?”

Tanned cheeks blaze — too close to the mark. Ah well, by this point, either the results remain the same or they've already spun off into their own parallel history.

“Besides," he grins, "aren't you worried I'll do something scummy while you sleep? I'm just a monster pretending to be human, after all.”

Solomon rolls his eyes. “You're scummy all the time, M. Why do you say that anyway?”

He cocks his head. “Because it's true?”

“Because you're half incubus?”

“Because I don't really experience emotions.” At the confused expression that nets him, he explains, “As you know, like any incubus, I consume human spirit. To do so, I share in your dreams and emotional experiences, and I can use the data I've consumed there as fuel to emulate emotion.”

The other stares at him, brow furrowed in deep thought. “I don't think that's precisely true,” he says at last.

“Oh? Is that supposed to be comforting? You know I spent years trying to rationalize my actions and decisions, but never came to a more human conclusion?”

“That's because your human half sought a human answer. You said you came here because you were curious. You didn't have to fake that, much less act on it. Curiosity is a form of desire, an emotion. You experience like, dislike and fun. That sort of sentiment is emotion, too, and nobody's making you choose what you like, dislike or enjoy. It's one thing to say you experience these differently and cannot truly empathize, but to say they're not real…”

That may well be true, “or perhaps,” he thumbs the frown lines away, “I've just spent so much time with you that I've become a little more human.”

“Y— This is a line you use to woo the ladies, isn't it?”

The sharp whiff of mixed jealousy and disdain has him giggling. “Maybe. Is it working?”

Solomon huffs, crossing his arms. “To make you even scummier? Yes.”

“How is it scummy for a wife to woo her husband?” He winks.

“I— You—” The king sputters, then “Gah,” turning away as he snickers. “I suppose that means you _will_ visit every night then?” The attempt to sound haughty and dignified is mostly ruined by the hint of insecurity at the end, but that's what makes teasing Solomon so much fun.

Merlin winds his arms around the other's waist and rests his chin on a padded shoulder to catch a smile creeping into the sulky pout. “I can't time it that precisely, you know. Travelling through time isn't so simple, even only in dreams.”

“Utterly useless,” the other mutters with a soft laugh and a shake of his head, leaning back. “But you'll try?”

As if he ever could resist. “Of course.”

“You came. I'm glad.”

Wise hazel eyes track Merlin as he crosses the King of Israel's private garden to join the monarch on the shaded daybed. This has been their custom of late, lying side by side to talk, and Solomon seems to enjoy gradually snuggling closer.

“Oh? What gives? You're rarely so glad to see me.”

“That's not true. I— Oh, you're teasing again,” Solomon realizes with a half-hearted smack. “I was afraid tonight, of all nights, you wouldn't make it…”

Merlin's grin fades as realization dawns. “You're dying.”

“Yes, and the time in which we work together that you spoke of never came to pass.”

“I never said it was within your lifetime.”

“I see. So I meet you as a Heroic Spirit with no memory of these dreams…” He falls silent, pensive, and Merlin doesn't break it, lets the rustling of the leaves and the gurgling of the water features wash over them. At length, the king adds, "I hope I am kind to you then."

He cracks up. “Oh no, you remain very much the same person. Our first meetings differ little.”

Solomon is chagrined by his response, but forges ahead. “I'm glad we'll meet again, at least. I was afraid I wouldn't get to thank you. For being my friend, that is. My only personal friend even.”

Violet eyes widen. “My lord—”

“No.” Solomon turns to clamp a hand over his mouth. “Not you. I never want to hear you call me titles.”

Reaching up to cover that hand with his own, Merlin sighs, “Solomon, y—”

“No, listen,” the other interjects insistently. “Every waking moment, I was watching my words and my deeds, fearing I would lose the favour of my Lord, my people, even my family. At first, I just played around because it didn't matter what some vagrant in a dream thought of me, and that was liberating in itself, but then… you never stopped coming back.” The earnest sincerity in hazel eyes is almost blinding. “No matter how we quibbled, whether or not I had my throne and kingdom, whether I stood in honour or shame, you visited and treated me just the same — like a person. You alone in all this world know and accept me exactly as I am —me, not the prophesied king and his gifts from God— with no conditions or expectations. And I've been a blind fool, then a coward.” He shakes his head, self-deprecating. “All this time, what I sought was right in front of me, and I—”

With a helpless, frustrated groan, he presses their lips together, and for the first time in centuries, Merlin finds himself stunned speechless.

“It's in his kiss, right?” Solomon mumbles weakly. “God knows it's haunted my thoughts ever since…”

“Oh, since then?” Merlin strokes the hair at the king's temple to soothe. He remembers Solomon kissing back — they should have continued.

“W—well, I never even considered the possibility before it.”

“Ah, I've been bad,” he laughs, a tad sheepish. “I knew better, too. If she were here, she'd say I really never learn.”

“She?” The tone is carefully neutral, but even the King of Mages can't hide that sharp stab of bitter-sour jealousy from him in this shared dream.

He lets out a fond chuckle. “Yes, she. In the future, I will advise a lady.” He can clearly see the other turning his words over, wondering if the jealousy is warranted, but he only grins, tracing familiar arm markings — they're beautiful, and he longs to run his tongue over them. “You don't think this is immoral anymore? We're not married.”

At that, Solomon flops back on the mattress, but doesn't let go. “Hah. If I weren't dying, I might remedy that.” Despite the teasing tone, hazel eyes are serious, and Merlin feigns a scandalized gasp.

“A man, and a cambion no less? Your people would riot! Maybe if I looked like this.” He overlays an illusion on himself, softening angles to curves and shifting to more common human colours.

Solomon's breath hitches. “O—only for the public…”

“Oh?” Merlin dispels the feminine image. “You like this better? Always knew you h—”

“I—it's not a matter of which is better!” the other protests. “It's— How could I ask of you the very thing—”

“Aww…” He props his chin up with his arm on Solomon's chest. “Truly, I'm charmed you'd break the rules for me.”

“Haven't I always?” the king scoffs with a wry smile. “Did you know? My Lord told me He would take the kingdom from my heir for my transgressions. Heh, I never thought highly of Father's parenting, but it seems I've done worse. Father at least built me a kingdom to preserve and prosper, whereas I will take it from my son.”

“Oh, come now,” Merlin chides, dismissive. “Some things, Solomon, are fixed in fate. If your kingdom is meant to fall, then fall it will. It doesn't matter what you did or didn't do.” Perhaps this is guilt — he should have told Altria the same.

Solomon smiles, warm but tentative, then bites his lip, looking away. “You…” Hazel eyes steal a glance, darting away and back again. “A—aren't you…?” He looks ready to bolt or cry from the uncertainty, and Merlin giggles — this dork is impossible not to tease.

Leaning in till their lips are mere millimetres apart, he taps the other's nose. “Am I making you nervous?”

“You're the worst,” Solomon mutters, eyes hopeful and all but holding his breath. “Say someth—mmh.”

He closes the distance. It's only a gentle brush of the lips, but hazel eyes flutter shut, and the king responds like it's instinct, just like that time in the desert. At the first caress of their tongues, Solomon moans, clinging to him and kissing back with earnest ardour. They part for air, but the other doesn't let go, pupils blown with longing as they roll onto their sides, and Merlin realizes then — not mere wine, but port so sweet and smooth the bottle is empty before he feels the intoxication. This intensity and purity of feeling tastes exquisite, has kept him coming back all this time.

He clicks his tongue. “You should have just done this from the start.”

Smiling ruefully, Solomon lets out a sound between a chuckle and a sigh. “You're right. Sorry. I've kept you waiting. Even from the start, I— But truly, although you are a cambion, you want this? I thought you like girls.”

Merlin laughs, running his fingers through luxurious silver tresses. “I do, but why wouldn't I want you? The quality of the human spirit is independent of gender. You, dear Solomon, have always been scrumptious and beautiful.”

The other's cheeks redden. “Heh, such flattery. I'm old, grey and wrinkly now, you know," he mutters, sheepish. "I'm glad it doesn't show in these dreams.”

“Well, I wouldn't consider describing someone as a meal particularly flattering,” Merlin points out as he unfastens fine robes with a grin, “but your physical age has very little impact on the taste of your spirit.”

That brings a happy smile to Solomon's face as he reaches for Merlin's robes in turn. “Will you eat me?”

“Ooh, I like that” teasing, flirty tone. He twines their legs, pressing flush to feel skin on skin, and the king trembles at the contact, already hard. “I'm already eating you, though.”

Then he strokes his lover, and whatever reply Solomon planned to make is lost in a choked keen. Squeezing the other's hand, he presses his lips to delicate knuckles as he keeps going, and Solomon's breath quickens. He writhes, hips bucking at every stroke, looking like it's unbearable — too much and too little at the same time.

It's surprisingly sexy, and “Are you always like this, or only for me?” Merlin wonders aloud as he runs his thumb along a ridge just below the glans.

“Y—you.” A hand grips the turn of his hip hard enough to bruise. “I've never— ngh…” The hand drops to catch his wrist. “I was always chasing an end before, but I never want this to end.”

“How honest!" He trails kisses along a line up his lover's arm, hears Solomon's desire rising in staccato breaths. "Well, only pure maidens are fit for the chosen king, after all.”

“D—don't make that sound like a bad thing.”

“It's not. Purity certainly has its charms. But so does experience, wouldn't you say?” He flicks the ridge again, and the other cries out, “Ah, please!”

He grins, shifting closer again. “Look at me?”

Nose to nose, hazel meet violet, and Solomon bites back another whimper, leaking onto his fingers — as if the mere sight intensifies it all. “T—tell me your True Name.”

“Mm, I really shouldn't.” Merlin tugs silver hair to tilt the other's head back and nip little red marks into that gracefully arched neck. “Why does it matter anyway?”

“Please,” the king gasps. “I know you've made sure I won't remember, and now... I just— I want—”

“Merlin.” Although Solomon can't articulate it, the sentiment is clear — it's the intimacy of knowing. “My name is Merlin.”

“Oh.” He repeats it to himself, curling into the pleasure and pressing his forehead to Merlin's, then—

The breath hitches in the hybrid's throat.

It feels good, of course —the hand reaching, even clumsily, to finally, finally touch— but that moment in which Solomon surrenders to his desire?

It's _incredible._

Hungrily, he claims another kiss, and Solomon eagerly offers more, presses closer like he wants to meld them into one, and— mm, he could eat this port-steeped chocolate lava cake forever.

Pulling back with a smile, he gives in to another temptation — catching half-lidded eyes, he licks along a mark on his lover's wrist to take a finger into his mouth. Then he's swirling his tongue suggestively around it as their hands find a matching rhythm, and—

Solomon gasps, close. “Merlin, tell me,” he pleads, desperate, between sounds of pleasure, “in the future, do you love me?”

“Heh, of all the things you could have asked,” Merlin huffs, kissing the inside of a tan wrist. “Even now, I do.”

He's not prepared for the effect the words have on Solomon, for the burst of emotion as the other spills between them. It brings him to his own climax, and he presses Solomon's hand to his cheek, lifts his other hand to his lips to lick their mingled seed off his fingers. He didn't think it possible to flush any deeper, but the other does, then tentatively, experimentally lifts his own hand to taste.

It cracks him up —Solomon looks so confused, like he can't decide whether it's good or why people do it— then Merlin cleans off the king's fingers, too, and kisses him. Oh, he definitely likes it now — he moans into the kiss, winding his arms around Merlin and snuggling flush.

“More?” he whispers between kisses, returning the embrace.

Solomon shakes his head. “Later. But kiss me. That's good. You're good.”

So Merlin does, burying his hands in lush silver hair to rub soothing circles into soft skin.

“You must think me a fool,” the other murmurs when they part at length, “to ask that question, knowing your nature.”

Merlin smiles, a touch wistful. “Foolishness and wishfulness are not the same, Solomon.”

“Then I'm afflicted by both,” says Solomon with a wry smile. “You're a cambion, Merlin. You love us all, in your own way. But… you made me feel human. It was always close enough for me.”

“You don't suspect I might have said so to comfort you?”

The other scoffs. “You wouldn't. You're a swindler, yes, but you don't want anything from me.”

“What about your soul?”

The King of Mages laughs. “You didn't even complete the contract. You could have. I was careless.”

“I can't alter the course of history, you know that. I meant in the future.”

“In the future,” Solomon kisses him again, “I'm sure I will love you again, even as a Heroic Spirit without these memories. And if I go with you willingly, then…” He shrugs, eyes fond. “Honestly, I'm sorry I waited this long.”

He settles in then, tucking his head beneath Merlin's chin, and the hybrid holds him tightly. There won't be a ‘later,’ he knows — Solomon is fading. This will be their final meeting as they are. The thought is… unsatisfying.

Still, he remains silent, kissing the crown of the other's head. Idly stroking his lover's back through silver hair with one hand, he blindly traces the markings on one arm with the other; he's memorized them by now — exotic, beautiful, powerful things. It's a small comfort, perhaps, but the king smiles into his skin and relaxes, letting go.

“Thank you,” Solomon whispers, “For staying. Even though the taste of death must be unpleasant for you. I'm… so glad I'm not alone, that it's you.”

He does leave — just a beat before the end, when Solomon can no longer hold on to the dream. But waking up feels… disappointing, somehow. He licks his lips — the thought that he'll never taste…

“Ah, this is a problem.”

He just might be addicted.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> As implied, there's actually more to this universe; whether in a second chapter or a sequel, I'm undecided. But writing from Merlin's POV is hard, and I'm not even sure if I'm doing it right, so I've decided I'm just going to post this segment, because it stands fine by itself regardless, and see what you all think about it while I deeply contemplate the rest of it. Heck, maybe it's better being left as is, and I should go write Something Else.
> 
> Any thoughts or feedback are greatly appreciated. ♡


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